Ever Loved
by Taste of Cinnamon
Summary: Reised. Formerly entitled A Rose is a Rose to the End. He stood there beneath the carcass of the Whomping Willow, a rose in his fingers, his heart in his hands, ready to live again. A HarryGinny oneshot.


**Nov 4, 2005**

**A/N: I know I've been neglecting my other story, but this has been gnawing at my conscience. Before you read, you should know that it's long and wordy, but I, at least, feel that it's worth it. Hopefully you'll feel the same way.**

**This takes place after Voldemort has been defeated (and I'm a firm believer that he one day will be). To fit into the storyline, I've made it so that ten years has passed and just about every main character has died (except Harry and Ginny of course). Sorry.**

**To those of you Harry/Ginny shippers, you'd better enjoy this one, because it may quite possibly be the only Harry/Ginny fic that I'll write. Why? Because I hate Harry/Ginny ships. Because I dislike Ginny. She strikes me as someone who's really girly and giggly, and though I know that she hasn't been since the Harry's third year, that's still the image I get of her. But I had this idea in my head and this is the pairing that would best fit it. So here I am.**

**Sept 25, 2006.**

**I felt like rereading and re-editing. You wont find many corrections.**

**---**

**Ever Loved**

_(Or "If you ever loved me")_

_By TasteOfCinnamon_

_Ginny,_

_If you ever loved me you'll come._

_Today, eleven. Hogwarts. I'll be waiting._

The letter wasn't even signed, but that didn't matter. It didn't have to be.

She read it again. Three sentences.

Three sentences that encompassed a million words.

It was of no importance to her. She had a new life now, a husband that cared for her, even if there was no love between them. And that didn't mean anything. Marriages can be built without love. She'd learned a long time ago that love was nothing.

Nothing.

But she some part of her still wanted to know. it needed closure. Ten years ago at Dumbledore's funeral _he_ had told her it was over, but it never really was, not to her. Just the way he'd looked at her as he'd said that told her it wasn't. More than anything, she needed to hear him say it, to actually say it and mean it this time, with conviction, because he actually believed it, not because it was convenient. She needed to move on with her life.

But she couldn't afford to have another change of heart.

Ginny's eyes filled with tears as she crumpled up the letter and tossed it into the waste basket beside her.

---

A young man stood at the base of what had once been the whomping willow, now a decayed carcass of a tree. He was dressed in what may have passed for formal attire, but was altogether too shaggy and unkempt to uphold that appearance. In his hand he clutched a single red rose.

Harry Potter gazed up at the turrets of Hogwarts castle, presently uninhabited, empty, and forgotten. Once upon a time, there had been a fire burning in every hearth of every tower, torches lighting even the darkest corridors, and wizards and witches bustling about the hallways, chatting and laughing. Now, however, Hogwarts was a hallow shell of a building, it's once cozy towers jutting into the sky like savage crags.

To Harry's right the Quidditch goal hoops still stood proudly against the night sky, no longer gleaming and magnificent but still intact. To his left stretched the forbidden forest that seemed to have encroached upon the castle grounds in his absence.

A sad finale for such a noble place. It had had a history—and oh, what a history—and there had been laughter, and smiles, and cherished moments, but now…Harry doubted whether even mice dwelled within the castle.

He clenched the rose harder, as if he was afraid it would disappear, remembering the last time he had stood in almost the exact same place clutching not one but a dozen roses. He had been but a teenager then, nervously awaiting the arrival of the same girl he was awaiting now.

"_I got these for you." Harry said, anxiously extending the bouquet toward Ginny, who looked deliciously flushed against the snowy landscape._

_Ginny took the roses, a carefully selected spray of blood red buds, and stared up at him with misty eyes._

_He blushed and hurriedly launched into an explanation. "I got Hermione to charm them so that they would last forever. I would've done it myself, but I'm no good at charms. It's sort of a wiggle and a swish, but I kept turning them into dandelions, and Ron was allergic, so we had to take him to the hospital wing, and then…" _

_He trailed off and smiled sheepishly down at her as she gazed up at him. _

"_They're beautiful, Harry," she breathed._

"_Ron told me you love roses."_

_Ginny gave a small laugh. "Ron doesn't know anything." She stopped at his terrified expression, then stood on her tiptoes and brushed his lips with hers._

"_But it doesn't matter what you give me, Harry," she murmured against his mouth, "I'll love you no matter what."_

_He melted at her words, and drew her closer as their kiss deepened into a passionate embrace. They remained lost in each other until a particularly strong gust of wind whipped around them and caused their cloaks to flutter against their bodies.._

_They stepped back sheepishly, but were spared further embarrassment as the same burst of wind that had thwarted their embrace earlier loosened Ginny's grip on the bouquet and lifted out a single rose that fell to the snow and lay there, a red stain against the white ground._

_Harry hurriedly made to pick it up, but Ginny forestalled him. She kneeled and lifted the rose off the ground, looking at it thoughtfully before pressing it into his hands._

"_You keep this one," she said softly, looking up at him again, "Keep it, and if ever I can't be there with you, look at it and know that somewhere, I'm thinking of you. And us."_

And he had. Though he and Ginny had broken up two months after, with Dumbledore's death, Harry still kept that single rose with him, as a gentle remainder of those wonderful days.

It had been with him through the darker days that followed that summer, as he set off in search of the remaining hocruxses, and for the battle for the Dark Lord's soul. Always it had remained beside him, and had given him comfort, reminding him that Ginny was still there, waiting for him. She still loved him and thought about him. It was the one thing that kept him from giving up.

For her. He'd kept going for her.

Harry smiled wryly and thought back to that day at the station, before the last stand, or, as Daily Prophet reporters like to call it, "The Last Battle." They had gotten word that Voldemort was on the coast, and it was a perfect chance to end his reign once and for all. Ginny was there that day to see him off, as was the others, but she was the one that had finally brought the tears to his eyes.

They had kissed for the last time, and he had pulled away.

"_We're not together anymore, remember?" Harry cajoled gently, removing her hands from his face where she had been caressing him. "We can't be. I told you that after Dumbledore's…after his funeral. You know that."_

_Ginny turned away, hiding her grief and her tears. "I know." She whispered. "I know we can't. But it's just so hard not being able to…be together. I know we can't be a couple any longer, but…I still love you. I can't help myself."_

_She shook her head suddenly. "I'm sorry Harry. I shouldn't be doing this to you, not here, not now. You shouldn't have to worry about me. You don't deserve—"_

_Harry smiled sadly and turned her to face him. "I said we can't be together right now," he reminded her quietly, "That doesn't me we'll never be."_

_Her eyes opened wide and she stared at him through her tears. "You lie," she said softly._

"_Never." Harry straightened her scarf and bent to whisper in her ear. "When this is all over, Ginny, I'll find you. And we'll be together. I promise."_

_Ginny sniffled softly, then smiled despite herself. "And I'll wait for you," she promised._

_The train engine bellowed and the whistle sounded one final time, interrupting their last moment together. Harry smiled one last time and gathered up his things. He stepped aboard as the train began to move._

_Ginny jogged alongside the train as it chugged along slowly in the beginning stages of its journey, gripping Harry's hand and smiling through her tears. "Goodbye, Harry," she called._

_The train began to pick up speed, and Ginny could felt their fingers slipping. She slowed, stopped. Looked on silently as Harry disappeared from sight. She never heard his answer._

Now, an older Harry Potter gripped the bark of the decayed willow in agony, cursing himself for his stupidity.

He had promised her. And he hadn't kept his word. He never looked for her after Voldemort disappeared. They had never again exchanged more than half a sentence.

It wasn't his fault, he tried to convince himself. He had meant to talk to her afterwards, he really had, but he couldn't. He had looked over at her during the collective funeral for their friends, caught her eye, and he couldn't.

He just couldn't, not after everyone they loved had passed away. Harry couldn't bring himself to love again after so much grief. It just wasn't right for them to be happy when everyone else was…

Dead. Gone. Never to walk the earth and laugh again.

Harry groaned again as he felt the familiar pangs of loss and loneliness that still tortured him after all this time.

Afterward, after the funeral, he had avoided her. He didn't trust himself to love again. He was afraid he'd hurt her. And so he had locked up his heart, purchased a flat in Strasbourg, and lived a lonely life for the next ten years.

But here he was again, standing in the place that had once been the source of years of joy, now only a sad remainder of the pain he had to endure. But he was ready now. He was ready to love again, to be loved again. He was ready to _live _again. He needed it desperately.

He was ready to speak to Ginny again.

"Ginny," he murmured softly, practicing what he would say to her, "I know I lied to you, and I know I ignored you all these years, but I just couldn't bring myself to talk to you again. After Ron, and Hermione…your parents…I just wasn't ready to be together again. I know I promised you, and I know I've been a cruel insensitive jerk, but I'm ready now. I can be the old Harry again, if you'll only give me a chance. It can be like it once was, and we can be happy. Ginny, I haven't forgotten you. I can't forget you. I love you."

And he did. More than she knew. And he always had, though he had hid that love for years. But he was ready to come clean now.

He looked around anxiously, and suddenly there she was, walking toward him, wrapped in a gray cloak, her hood up, but her red hair still waving in the breeze. Older now, and devoid of the girlish charm he used to love so much, but still Ginny. His Ginny.

She looked apprehensive, nervous, and shy, and she was smiling anxiously as she drew closer and looking up into his green eyes. Harry had forgotten how beautiful she was, and how much he had loved her. All those years, he had missed out on her love, but it didn't matter anymore. Not now. Never again.

He waited until she had neared and before speaking her name, loving the way it sounded on his lips. She didn't reply. She didn't need to. They stood there for an infinite amount of time, him staring at her, her looking down at the ground, and then she broke the silence.

She smiled uneasily. "I wasn't going to come…"

"I know." He didn't know.

She finally looked up at him and he felt a rush of love for at the sight of those eyes. He felt his heart clench with the old familiar ache. His entire being was aching for her love.

Ginny smiled gently. "I came because…I needed an ending. Harry…"

A wave of numbness, and Harry suddenly felt it hard to breathe. An ending? He blinked, not knowing what to say beside "Okay."

She shook her head. "I couldn't do it anymore, Harry," she said, "I couldn't wait any longer."

"I don't—"

"I got your letter, and—"

"I lived in Strasbourg for ten years," Harry cut in hurriedly while his mind screamed at him that that wasn't the way he had rehearsed it. He was supposed to ask her how she was first. He was supposed to apologize first. Blurting out his life story had never been part of the plan.

She cut him off. "I don't blame you for leaving, Harry," she whispered.

"…And I know I lied to you, but if you'll only listen, and give me another chance, I—"

"You didn't want to be with me in the midst of all that suffering."

"…I'd forgotten how much I needed you, Ginny, I can't—"

Ginny sighed. "Harry…" she began.

"…One day I woke up and I expected to see you beside me, but you weren't there, and it was the worst feeling—"

"I'm married now, Harry."

Harry stopped dead. He felt his already wounded heart shatter into a million tiny fragments and scatter in the wind. No. She was joking with him. She couldn't be married. He still loved her. He continued on blindly. She would see. She'd have to see.

"I couldn't talk to you because I didn't feel—" If he just kept talking, then maybe, _maybe_, he could take back what she had said.

His words were cut off as she pressed her lips against his in a soft kiss. He felt in his stomach the old _swoosh_ he felt whenever he was near him and his knees began to tremble. But something was missing, he could feel it. It wasn't a loving kiss. There was no happiness in it.

It was a kiss that said goodbye.

When she pulled away again they both had tears in their eyes. Harry spoke first.

"Ginny—"

She forestalled him again. "Give me an ending, Harry."

"But--"

"Tell me it's over. I can't go on living my life when my heart is still chained to yours. We can't be together any longer, so just end it, Harry, please. I have a husband now who cares for me. My life is peaceful. I want to keep it that way. I can't take any more turmoil, Harry, not after what I've already been through."

He shook his head dumbly, disbelievingly. "No…"

"Give me an ending."

"Ginny—"

"Tell me it's over. Let me live again."

He felt the tears coursing down his face and nodded dumbly. "Yes," he whispered almost inaudibly, "It's over."

For a moment the only sound was the whispering of the wind through the trees and Harry's soft sobbing, then Ginny sighed softly and smiled again, a sad smile. "Thank you," she said, "Thank you. Goodbye, Harry."

He shook his head.

"I want you to be happy," she said. "I wish that you'll be happy. Someday. And then we'll meet and have coffee, and we'll be friends again."

Harry watched as she turned around and walked away from him and out of his life for the last time. He felt the fragments of his heart lift up in the wind and scatter to the four corners of the world. He could search for his entire life, but he would never be able to find all the pieces and put them back together again.

---

Three years later he started dating again and married a Dutch witch named Gertrude. She was a pretty little thing: pale skin, hair, and eyes, and not very prone to talking, but a good wife and good company. Harry had sold his flat in Strasbourg and purchased a country house on the outskirts of London, where Gertrude kept it neat and tidy, just like herself—a neat little pale pink house with a white picket fence surrounding it and a mailbox that read simply "Potter".

If one saw the house, they would think it belonged to an accountant and his country-girl wife. There was no indication that it was the home of a man who had once been a teenager who had once been a boy with bright green eyes and crooked glasses who had once possessed a fierce loyalty and bravery and who had once tangled with the forces of darkness and lived.

Harry had done a good job of hiding his true self.

Once, when Gertrude was dusting in the quiet of the afternoon—her husband was at his job working in the foreign relations branch of the ministry of magic—she stumbled upon a carved jewelry box that she had never seen before, in the inner most depths of his dresser drawer.

It was a strange contraption, engraved with the picture of an owl with a feather in its beak, wings spread, claws extended. Curious, she wiped the dust off the box with her cleaning rag, then carefully pried it open.

Inside, on a velvet red cushion with gold lining, lay a single rose, blood red and just beginning to bloom, slightly dusty but perfect nonetheless.

(End)

---

**And there it is. Fluffy and cliché, but people who have read my other stories should know by now that that's the way I write. Cheers. **


End file.
